


A Maid as Red as Autumn

by tobiume



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3203312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobiume/pseuds/tobiume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor Clegane is working as a private investigator for Joffrey Baratheon, following Margaery Tyrell before their betrothal to make sure she isn't sneaking around. But on his way back one night, he finds the body of another girl. A modern day mystery, inspired by the world of Harmonicfriction's "We Need to Talk About Joffrey."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Maid as Red as Autumn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HarmonicFriction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmonicFriction/gifts).



_10:18 pm, Saturday_  
  
Sansa swirls on the stage, bucking her hips and lowering her body until her nearly bare backside touches the ground. Mr. Baelish (Petyr, she reminds herself) insists that she wear red, with her fair skin and red hair. She has always hated the color red, but now she slips on the red thong and garter belt without comment. Sansa cares about very little, any more. The glitter on her cheeks catches the bright lights and the reflection from the sweat beading her face, making tiny lights swim in front of her eyes. The two drinks she had before the show, all she's allowed, make her feel as if she's floating, but she's careful not to lose her balance. If she's not the star, even Petyr won't care about her anymore, she knows.  
  
She does part of her dance facing away from the crowd; that's her favorite part. When she swings her head and her long, loose curls whip  around over her shoulders, the men watching shout and call out for her to turn around. The music throbs in her skull, making her teeth and cheeks ache. When the lights flash blue and the song slows down, she turns, working off the red balconette bra she will shortly fling into the crowd. She used to use those precious seconds to scan the crowd, looking for the kindest face, but she's since learned that a friendly face means nothing in the dim dressing room. Instead she lets her hands guide her. Petyr will give her a sweet, strong drink after her dance, and sometimes a pill or two. That's better than hoping for kindness.

Tossing her top into the crowd, she finishes her act, pretending shock when the men cheer and jeer, putting her hands over her breasts but rubbing her nipples with her fingertips. That was Petyr's idea, and it was a wild success, so now she does it every night. When the music stops, she drops to her knees and leans back with spread legs, letting her hair touch the floor. Loud voices shout out suggestions that she tries to ignore as she pushes herself up on her red satin heels. She has to walk through the crowd to return to her dressing room, where she will meet whoever caught her bra. (This is an arrangement that Petyr has worked out with his best customers. They have to pay a certain amount to be allowed to watch her dance, and then another, larger sum to be escorted to her dressing room, upon presentation of her undergarment. One man each night.) Although the men part to let her pass, it isn't out of respect or any other sentiment: If they touch her without paying, they will be permanently banned. Sansa doesn't look at their faces anymore. She doubts they could think of anything new to do to her, but if they have, she'd rather not see it in their eyes.  
  
Petyr meets her at the swinging door, slipping out from behind the mahogany bar, a glass in his hands. She grabs it and sips eagerly, but he takes it back before she's finished. It's milder than usual, she notes with worry. She can't taste the alcohol. There's nothing else in his hands, and a dizzy, sick feeling sweeps through her. Sometimes the men don't care if she's drunk, but some of them want her to be sober, aware of what they're doing. Those are the worst nights.  
  
"Sansa, my sweet, tonight you must be very kind. This young man is a great supporter of our house," Petyr says, confirming her fears. His oily voice offends her more than usual, since her earlier buzz is wearing off, and she wonders how she could have ever trusted him. How could her mother have placed her faith in him? Sansa has asked herself these questions many times, but the answers mean so little now that she knows she needn't bother. Her family is dead, and she is alone, and Petyr at least has taken care of her, in a manner of speaking. He puts his finger to her chin and draws her face up, leaning in to whisper in her ear. His breath is hot on the side of her face, and she shivers. "I believe he's someone known to you." His smile, she cannot comprehend, and so she hurries down the hall to her room, stopping so abruptly that she skids backwards when she sees who's standing outside.  
  
It's Joffrey, and his face is darker, blanker than she's ever seen it. Darker than when he stood above her, kicking her stomach, her hands still bound to the steering wheel of his car. When she woke up in the hospital, she tried to pretend that it had been a bad dream, that the Joffrey she had loved would have never hurt her, but only the pills Petyr sometimes gives her can make her forget that face, the last thing she saw before she passed out. But he took her to the hospital, she remembers, and she doesn't run, though she does risk a glance back over her shoulder. Petyr is watching her, and raises his glass. Anger makes her shake. He had promised her she'd never have to see Joffrey again, that he'd never find her. But then, he had also promised Sansa would be very happy here.   
  
Joffrey holds her bra with one finger, as if it's something dirty, something he'd rather not have near him. But if he thought that, why would he be here? Looking down at it, he curls his lip, but then he looks up and gives her the smile she remembers from their very first date, when he asked her to be his girlfriend.  
  
"Sansa," he greets her, running his eyes up her body. She crosses her arms over her chest, wishing she could at least have the top back. "You're looking pretty hot. Never would have pictured you as a stripper, though." He smirks. "I've got to say, that look suits you. No more long skirts?"  
  
She looks at him warily, saying nothing, still not sure what brought him here.  
  
"You're not a scared little virgin anymore, are you? I bet you're fun now. You know all the tricks, don't you?"  
  
Sansa wants to roll her eyes, but she looks down instead. "Doesn't your slutty girlfriend take care of you?" She'd tried to win him back, after he started dating Margaery, but wishes she'd just left him alone. She wishes that desperately, then feels guilty that she wants that more than she wants her family back. She couldn't bear for them to see what she's become.  
  
His eyes narrow, and she regrets her words, but then he laughs, breaking the tension. "Oh, she's fine. But it's you I think about. That hot little body, your red hair. Come over here and give me a kiss." He beckons, then adjusts his red and black sports jacket. He's still as handsome as ever, and Sansa pushes away the memory that's surfacing all over again, blocking out the sound of her own screams. They don't even sound real in her head anymore. She probably isn't remembering correctly. What if she hit her head? He took her to the hospital, after all.  
  
She kisses Joffrey lightly on the lips, and he crushes her to his chest with his arm. He's still an aggressive kisser; he still likes to bite. Using his other arm, he pushes open the door of her dressing room and shoves her in. She stumbles a bit, but rights herself against the wall, until he pushes her back down. 

"Get on your knees, you dirty whore," he says, shoving his groin into her face, grabbing the ends of her hair and jerking her back.

 _12:41 am, Sunday_  
  
Clegane sips his coffee and makes a face. It's disgusting. There are grounds floating in it, and it's more burnt than fresh. He pulls his flask out and adds whiskey, which always improves the taste. Joffrey pays him well, but the coffee in his office tastes like piss. Joffrey doesn't give a fuck because all he drinks is alcohol, but the people who actually have to work need something to drink. He'll have to remind him about that. Tonight Joffrey is paying him to follow the Tyrell girl. Clegane ignores a lot of Joffrey's rambling; these days he's usually drunk out of his mind, and when he isn't drunk, he's more than halfway insane anyway, but from what Clegane remembers from when he's bothered to listen, there's supposed to be a betrothal, and Joffrey wants to make sure she isn't sneaking around behind his back. "Like Sansa, that slut," he says, as if Clegane has forgotten.

Clegane keeps his face blank when Joffrey rants about Sansa, but he cringes with guilt on the inside. He fucked up there, big time, and hopes that she got out all right. He got her away from Joffrey and to the hospital, called her uncle, but he hasn't heard anything about her since. Other than what Joffrey says, which is that she's a whore who got pregnant with some other guy to get Joffrey to marry her. It didn't even make sense, especially after Clegane heard Joffrey brag about getting to fuck her without a condom, "since she's a dumb girl who doesn't know anything."

But it's not like Clegane cares about her, anyway. If she was dumb enough to fall for Joffrey, she deserved what she got, he tells himself. Her face is something of a blur in his memory, especially when he's been drinking as much as he has these days, but he can't stop thinking of her hair, spilling limply over her shoulders as blood trickled out from between her pale thighs.

Maybe he can go home soon. This girl isn't doing much tonight. Her car's been parked in the driveway since nine, and no one's come to the house. But as he's about to leave, a car pulls slowly up the drive. He sits up eagerly, stabbing his cigarette out on the dash of the truck he borrowed, but the guy who gets out is, as Joffrey likes to call him, "Margaery's faggy brother." Loras makes his way to the house, somewhat unsteadily, and as the door opens, the Hound sees Margaery, wearing loose pants and a sweatshirt. He's only met her twice, but both times her clothes left little to the imagination. It's no wonder Joffrey wanted him to follow her, but Clegane concedes that she doesn't seem the type to meet guys in sweatpants.  
  
He'll leave for tonight. He's driving down the private road that leads to the Tyrell mansion, still taking an occasional gulp of the shitty coffee, planning to get good and drunk after he drops off this truck, when something bright gleams at him from the side of the road. It's none of his business what it is. Joffrey isn't paying him to investigate drunk drivers or roadkill. But something makes Clegane pull over, get out of the truck, and walk over with his flashlight. 

It's a naked girl. Well, mostly naked. She's wearing one of those lingerie things that hold up stockings. It's red, but Clegane can still see the darker red spots on it. Her visible skin is unmarked, but from the position she's in, all he can see is her back and legs. Pressing one finger to her skin, he knows immediately that she is dead, and that he should leave the area. But the beam of his flashlight catches her hair, long auburn strands that still shine in death, and suddenly Clegane, who has trained himself not to feel anything for other people, is stricken with grief and nausea. Not caring about procedure or that he might be casting suspicion on himself, he reaches out and turns her head.  
  
It is her. Sansa Stark. Although her face is mottled with bruising and pooled blood, he knows. Her wide blue eyes are open, permanently startled, and he hopes she didn't know what was coming, but the bloody lines on her breasts and belly tell him that she probably did. He pulls back, not wanting to look at her any more, and leaves to find a phone. His phone is somewhere in the truck, but he doesn't want to use a burner cell to call the police.

 _9:00 pm, Saturday  
  
_ His mother has retired to her private lounge, and Joffrey is ready to leave for the night. He has his own apartment, of course, but Cersei likes him to come visit once in a while, although he only stops by briefly after the brats have gone to bed. But as he's leaving, his phone buzzes, and he picks it up to see he's got a text. Someone he doesn't know has sent him a video. "Check out this hot girl," the message says. Debating whether or not it's a virus, Joffrey eventually decides to watch the video. If it is a virus, he can get a new phone, after tracing the number and teaching its owner a lesson. Besides, the girl might be actually really hot.  
  
It's a grainy video, shot in what looks like a strip club. A girl wearing skimpy red lingerie dances on the stage. She's not bad, but she moves like she's been drugged, Joffrey notes. Not that he cares. Girls on drugs let you do whatever you want. Her long red hair flies out behind her, and at first Joffrey thinks that's what makes her look like Sansa, but then he realizes that she _is_ Sansa. She's wearing a ton of makeup and looking a few years older, but it's her.

He's instantly furious. Sansa was his girlfriend. He dumped her because she was crazy, but she was still his. He might have wanted to get with Sansa again someday. She was cute, and he thinks her family was what made her so weird, and they're all dead now. He smirks as he remembers Sansa screaming. She should have gotten over it. After all, she could have been with him. His family is way better. But now she's tainted. Who knows who she's been with now? If she's working at a strip club, she's probably sucking off any guy who asks. He watches the video again. It looks like a nice strip club. One he'd go to. Actually, he realizes, as the camera pans around away from the stage, he thinks he has been there. Littlefinger, he thinks, even angrier now. He's been hiding her.  
  
Joffrey calls Clegane immediately. "Hound, get your ass back here. I have another job I need your help on." But Clegane doesn't call back, and Joffrey is impatient. He takes another shot of vodka, an approximate shot, straight from the bottle, and grabs his coat.  
  
 _8:23 pm, Friday_  
  
"Yes, that's the address." Margaery nervously brushes up her curls into a ponytail, then lets them fall, wondering if this is, in fact, a good idea. Maybe she should do something else with the information. Take it to the police and let them know Petyr Baelish has underage girls working for him? But this town is corrupt, she's known that for ages. Likely the police already know. Joffrey's uncle is one of them, and in that family, he almost has to be dirty. Besides, Baelish is Sansa's _uncle_. He has to be stopped. She isn't sure what she'll do with the video yet, but with it she can do something to help Sansa. Somehow. Loras and Renly will help her figure it out.  
  
Loras is heading to the club now. Renly insisted on meeting him there, for backup, although it's doubtful Loras will need help, especially not the kind Renly could provide. He'd probably try to flirt his way out of the strip club, completely disregarding the fact that it was an establishment frequented by straight men. Margaery wants to go, to grab Sansa and usher her out. But what if she doesn't want to go? What if Margaery makes the situation worse? She wants to ask her grandmother, but Olenna retires early. It can wait until tomorrow, and at least she will have the video.  
  
Margaery has other concerns of her own tonight. Joffrey has been having her followed, she thinks. This betrothal is important for her family, and she doesn't know what she'll do with the little toad once they're married, but she'll think of something. Knowing that he's having her followed makes her both furious and pleased. He doesn't trust her, but all she has to do is play the sweet, innocent girl she's pretending to be, and she's got him. It's so simple that it makes her laugh. Luckily he's stupid and easy to deceive. She hates him, hates the way he shoves his hand inside her and bites her lips and neck. She doesn't like being slapped or having to suck his cock until she chokes. But she can bear it, to restore this town. She wants the corruption to end, and if she plays her role, she'll be in a position to do something.  
  
"Thanks, Loras. Remember, just take the video and get out. This guy's a scumbag, and I don't want him to catch you. Yes, I know. Just do it. We'll think of something. Just get the video for now!" Margaery hangs up on her brother with a sigh. He always wants to rush in without a plan. She knows that it's better to consider things carefully before taking action. They'll help Sansa somehow.


End file.
